


Lost

by Iolanfg



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Amnesia, M/M, Poor Greg Lestrade, Poor Mycroft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 05:47:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20169145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iolanfg/pseuds/Iolanfg
Summary: Two years. Two years had passed since Sherrinford. Two years since every act, gesture and word of Mycroft was thoroughly reviewed, questioned and judged. Two years since Greg decided he and Mycroft needed time to decide where their relationship was going. Two years since Mycroft disappeared.





	Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Everything belongs to Doyle, Moffat and Gatiss.  
English is not my first language, this was translated with the translator Deepl, I regret any error.

Greg clung tightly to the edge of the desk, suddenly dizzy. He tried to get rid of the sensation as he rubbed his eyes, trying to focus on the image on the screen, feeling incredulous, relieved and anxious at the same time.  
He moved closer to the computer, as the man in the photograph looked back at him with sad, empty eyes.  
He had a small beard and his appearance, though clean, seemed neglected. An image that had little to do with the man he remembered.  
\- God, all this time... What happened to you? - he mused.  
When his friend and colleague Nick Patterson, DI from the neighboring town of Lymm, asked him for help in finding out the identity of a guy they had found wandering around months ago, with no I.D. of any kind and whose fingerprints seemed never to have been recorded, Greg didn't even imagine something like that.  
\- He's not a bad guy, you know? - his friend said on the phone. - He goes to the shelter every day to take a shower and eat something, sometimes he drinks too much when he manages to collect a few money, but he's a quiet, lonely and polite guy, he doesn't usually get into trouble and people usually treat him well. He's usually in Spud Wood Park most of the time, or Lymm Dam Lake, sometimes he draws, people already know him and sometimes they give him pencils and paper, along with some sandwiches and a cup of coffee. He is kind, and although he has never said a word, he listens attentively. Sometimes he nods or smiles a little, but is unable to say a single word about who he is or where he comes from. When you ask him he gets tense, as if he will try to remember, but he just stays there, looking at nothing... We tried to make his case known in the media, but he got scared and disappeared for weeks. It's as if he thinks he doesn't want to be found, or is afraid of being found. But he's not on file and no one is wanted who matches his description. I don't know, Greg, but I think someone somewhere should miss him, he sure has a family and a home somewhere. Someone has to be waiting for him. He's not the kind of person you forget easily, but we're unable to help him. And I would really like to do that.  
Without striving to contain the tears, he stroked the photograph on the screen, running a trembling finger over the cheek of a small red beard, matching the curly hair, unable to contain a small smile recalling the times he had told Mycroft that he should let himself be seen with his natural hair, and the horrified look he used to receive in response.  
Two years. Two years had passed since Sherrinford. Two years since every act, gesture and word of Mycroft was thoroughly reviewed, questioned and judged. Greg tried to support him, but adding Eurus to a long list of secrets and lies, Moriarty, Sherlock's fake suicide, Mary and her true identity, made him rethink his relationship.  
A month later, although the labor storm had subsided, Greg decided that he and the one who had been his partner since Sherlock's supposed death should give themselves some time. There was no discussion. Greg proposed it and Mycroft just nodded and left the house. Greg felt his anger grow at his attitude.  
A week later, Mycroft Holmes was disapear.  
They found his car, days later, near the north coast, thousands of kilometers, but no sign of him.  
They searched for him. MI5, the police, Sherlock, Greg.  
MI6, CIA, Europol and several other foreign agencies became involved, starting their own search discreetly, without success.  
Two years later, Sherlock avoided naming his brother at all, leaving the room if anyone mentioned him, so it no was easy for him to tell how he felt about his older brother's disappearance.  
Greg, on the other hand... Greg felt a thousand different things every day: sometimes he felt frustrated and scared, sometimes tired and furious, sometimes he felt happy, when he thought he saw a reddish hair in the crowd or a man in a suit wearing an umbrella, only to feel disappointed when he was able to find out it wasn't him. Most days he just felt empty and sad.  
Two years. Part of him wanted to run out of the Yard and go look for him, yell at him for disapearing, hug him and tell him how much he loved him, that nothing mattered, and that he wouldn't let him go again. Another part was scared to death and unable to take his eyes off the screen, as if Mycroft would to fade away again if he stopped looking at her for a moment.  
He traced Mycroft's visibly thinner face with his trembling hand as he picked up the phone to talk to his Lymm colleague.  
\- I'll bring you home, sweetheart. Just wait a bit. Nothing will ever take me away from you again, I promise. Just wait...


End file.
